


Fingerings

by colonelmoran



Category: Kingkiller Chronicles - Patrick Rothfuss
Genre: Other, Short, Slightly Scathing, sexy?, stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 22:52:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12352209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colonelmoran/pseuds/colonelmoran
Summary: “Each woman is like an instrument, waiting to be learned, loved, and finely played, to have at last her own true music made.”― Patrick Rothfuss, The Wise Man's Fear





	Fingerings

I returned to my room at Anker’s with her. We’d been performing hard all night. Her neck was warm where my hand rested on it, like the skin of a barmaid after hours of serving ale in a smoky taproom. The warmth made her strings loose and pliant, as though she were a noblewoman, surreptitiously loosening her corset after the third glass of claret.  
     I laid her gently on the coverlet of my little bed. The swoop of her pear-shaped bowl was the swoop of the hips of a country lass fed on butter. The rich hues of her polished rosewood gleamed up at me like waves of brunette hair. I shed my clothes and lay down beside her. I ran my hand lightly over her. An artless chord, like the soft moaning of a faerie girl under a butterfly sky, rose from her as my fingers brushed her strings. I tweaked one of her tuning pegs, softly, the way a man might tease the tips of his lover’s breasts through her lacy bodice. Her next chord moaned in a higher key.  
     I pulled her to me with a sigh. The rosewood’s scent was sharp and sweet, a perfume fit for a princess. I ran my lips along the length of her neck—as swanlike and elegant as that of any Modegan courtesan—planting kisses at every fret. I thrust…

***

     “Wait, hold on. Actual kisses?” Chronicler asked. “Or is this just another metaphor?”  
     “Metaphor?” said Kvothe, clearly puzzled. “Which part of my story did you think was a metaphor?”  
     “Well, a lot of it actually. The way you keep comparing the women you wanted to seduce to instruments, for example. It’s all metaphor. Objectification, I suppose you could call it.”  
     “Oh,” said Kvothe. “Oh, I see. No, this isn’t like that. I just really liked fucking my lute.”


End file.
